Bridge-Tap Tango
by Riddlehum
Summary: Holed up in his new headquarters and sweltering in the summer heat, Riddler makes a call. Oneshot, post Inquistion Symphony.


**Bridge-Tap Tango**

"_Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance." _- Carl Sandburg

* * *

**Bridge tap:** a long-used method of cabling for telephone lines. A bridge tap has no hybrid coil or other impedance matching components, just a "T" (or branch) in the cable. Thus the bridge presents an impedance mismatch. The unused branch of the T is usually left with no device connected to its end, thus has no electrical termination. Both the tap and its unterminated branch cause unwanted signal reflections, also called echoes.

* * *

The room was illuminated solely by the soft green glow of idle computer screens and light shades spraypainted green. Wires and cables lined the back walls like so many rubber snakes.

Long legs swung to prop themselves upon the corner of a hardwood desk. It was fantastic, being back in his own clothes – his glasses, his green suit and bowler hat, and enough punctuation marks to satisfy his fancy. He had yet to replace his shoes, however, and still wore the bulky pair of combat boots he'd lifted from an asylum guard on his way out of Intensive Treatment. (The clunky monstrosities were growing on him, but there was simply nothing classy about tucking your pants into the tops of your boots.)

Even less classy, Edward had been reminded, was the sweltering heat that currently suffocated the city. The central computer hub was still fairly cool – struggling to maintain a soothing 65 for the optimum functionality of his equipment – but the rest of his new HQ was positively melting. The independent generators powering the complex were responsible for most of this excessive temperature variance – but of that, nothing could be done. He occasionally tapped into the local power grids for an extra, heat-free energy boost, but it was risky business.

Something like a landline tap was painfully easy to conceal – and he had many scattered across the island. But syphoning energy from a power grid connected to government territory? Quite the risk.

Edward was incredibly confident in his abilities, yes, but he was no fool.

It was true, however, that he had not exactly anticipated his new home becoming a physical part of Arkham City. Before Edward's breakout, the Broker had assured that Strange's new asylum complex would impede Edward's territory only peripherally... but peripheral impedance did not generally imply _barricaded between a heavily guarded wall and a tepid body of water._

But Edward was adjusting. Silver lining to every cloud, after all.

The Rogue reasoned that while he would be under heavy surveillance once the precinct opened, it was worth it to hide in plain sight. What better place to spread wide his presence than a prison of decay and corruption – an environment that would, indubitably, draw the attentions of the Batman? He rather counted on it. There were enough mysterious shadows gathering over the decrepit city to keep the Bat occupied for quite some time. He and his Merry Band of Crusaders would never be able to resist the allure of fresh criminal muck, drawn in by the aroma of a fetid stew coming to boil in the mucilaginous melting pot that was Arkham City.

...Melting pot, indeed. The air conditioning was still straining to ward away the thermals wafting up through the floorboards and pressing in from the walls. Edward grimaced as sweat began to collect at the small of his back and beneath the nosepiece of his glasses. He was already as bare as he could stand – stripped down to a sleeveless undershirt, with his trousers rolled up to the knees and his boots unlaced. A free hand fanned his face with his bowler hat. The other hand he lifted to his face, reading the hands of his watch.

Ten after eight in the evening. (And it was still nearly a hundred degrees outside.)

Edward leaned forward in his desk chair and peered over his glasses at a bank of screens on the back wall. They currently displayed the feeds of several wireless cameras in Hugo Strange's apartment. And right on schedule, Strange entered his home after a long day at work.

The Rogue grinned wickedly to himself.

_This_ would be entertaining.

As Strange puttered about in his room, Edward cracked his knuckles and stretched his long fingers, hands hovering over the keyboard of his desktop computer.

Then he was typing, digging his fingers into the core processor of his technological masterpiece of a network:

[COMMAND: SYSTEM BOOT]

**[...]**

**[SYSTEM ONLINE]**

**[WELCOME, EDWARD]**

[COMMAND: CONNECT_GCG&E_QUAD_18_TERMINAL_AF366]

[COMMAND: LOCATE_TAP_"1183"]

**[SEARCHING...]**

**[TAP "1183" FOUND]**

**[CONNECTED]**

[COMMAND: BRIDGE_212-882-6501]

[COMMAND: ATTCH_ENCRYP_#356122RMT_SUB00101]

[COMMAND: DIAL_212-882-6501]

**[DIALING: 212-882-6501]**

Edward relaxed back against his chair, folded his hands behind his head, watched in morbid satisfaction as Strange's telephone began to ring.

Strange startled at the noise (glorious!); the man hesitated for a long moment before hastily moving to answer it, as if an impossible wish had finally been fulfilled.

Edward knew what that wish was, of course, and it made everything all the more amusing.

_ "Hello?"_ The professor's accent filtered haltingly through the speakers in the corner beneath the video feeds, a tinge hopeful beneath the caution.

"Good evening, Hugo." Edward couldn't keep the smile from his proud and voice. "I believe it is time for our one-on-one."

A pause.

_"No."_ Strange's posture had become rigid, and the professor's free hand gripped the edge of his polished desk. _"It is time for __**you**__ to stop this and give up. My TYGER guards will find you, and when that happens... I will perform the procedure on you myself."_

"Procedure?" Edward's brow furrowed for a brief millisecond. "_Oh_. You mean what you did to all those poor fools back at the asylum... To be honest, I think you did them a favour."

Panic. _"How do you-?"_

"How do I know that you requested access to the most forgettable patients, and proceeded to melt their brains with the help of that confused milliner?" Edward idly traced question marks on his desktop. His fingerpad, damp with sweat, proved the perfect medium. "Or did you mean – how do I know that you've been providing the ex-Warden with your own special medication? No doubt intended to render his synapses more... _malleable_ to your suggestions... Or _maybe_ you are currently wondering if I know about the secret panel in your closet... How it slides back to reveal what you want most... How you sit, wearing that suit, crying into your hands as you question whether you are _really_ worthy..."

Strange's rigid posture had gradually decayed. He was now slumped with what Edward hoped was a mortally alienating feeling of shame and defeat. It was a glorious sight, and it delighted the Rogue completely.

_ "What do you want, Mr Nygma?"_

"Oh, that's easy. I want exactly what you want."

Edward's grin grew wider for a brief moment, before reversing sharply into a snarl. His hand ceased its delicate tracework and clenched into a violent fist. "I want Batman. Dead. Humiliated – but _dead_."


End file.
